Promises
by Not A Monkey
Summary: You know how when you are younger, you make promises to yourself that you'll never in a million years keep? Well I've broken more than just a promise to myself. Darkfic, not very pleasant. Abusive Joe. OOCness.


**AN: I do not own these characters, and they hardly sound like the ones from the books. Everyone is a tad OC, but this idea would not leave my head. Not too explicit, but do not read if abuse and miscarriage distrubs you. Feel free to review.**

* * *

**Promises**

You know how when you are younger, you make promises to yourself that you'll never in a million years keep? Like, 'I'm never going to get married'; 'I'm going to give all my money to the poor'. Slowly the promises change, as you see more and more around you. You start saying things like 'I'll never gamble anything more than what I can afford to lose', 'I'll give up drinking as soon as I feel it's a problem'. You have serious promises, ones you are pretty sure that you will keep like 'I'd never kill anyone', and 'I'd never do drugs'.

My promise to myself was one of these. When I was younger and in my teens, I would swear until I was blue in the face that I would never be in an unhealthy relationship. That I would always maintain enough respect for myself. As I got older, I kept that promise. I divorced my husband when I caught him doing the nasty on my brand new kitchen table. I refused to let myself be cowed by what society demanded of me. I refused to let my now ex-husband try to explain away his transgressions. I thought, foolishly, that I had and would always live up to that promise. But I was wrong.

And now I am lying here on the bathroom floor. I can't move because that will jolt my ribs. I keep on throwing up and not just due to the pain and the fact that I still lying in my pools of my own blood, but because I am making myself sick. Because I know I won't do anything about it. Because I know deep down I am going to accept this and I really couldn't say why. I've broken my promise so many times these last few years but a lot more subtle ways. I'd sworn I would never let myself be in an abusive relationship and now that thought, just like me, had been kicked to the ground.

**0o0o0o0o  
**

When Joe and I first starting dating, I'd never actually taken the time to think about what he said to me. It took me a good year into our on-again off-again relationship before I realised that even though he wasn't hitting me, he was still abusing me. Nothing I did was good enough (except for balls to the wall sex of course) and everything I did was criticised. Even when I was following his life plan and working at the button factory I was still being berated.

I know I say it all the time, but the fact that explosions happen around me isn't my fault. I used to say it because I wholeheartedly believed it to be true. And it is true. I don't cause them; I don't normally know the people who do. I don't provide the bombs. I don't encourage people to blow things up. In fact, sometimes despite what Joe thought, it isn't even my job that causes things to happen (as clearly seen by my brief stint doing anything bar Bond Enforcement). But slowly, ever so slowly, I began to feel guilty. And it wasn't the stock standard catholic guilt either.

No. Instead I was guilty because Joe was upset. I was guilty that he let the stress affect him physically. I eventually stopped believing it wasn't my fault and agreed with Joe, that I was guilty of all it. And when he berated me, yelled at me, called me names; I thought I deserved it.

And once I started thinking that, I started to let myself believe everything else he said. How I would make an awful mother and wife. That I should stop daydreaming and learn some real skills. That a real woman would have more sense in her little toe than I had in my whole body. How I was pathetic for even attempting to do a job that I was so terrible at. That it was my fault our relationship kept failing, because of my job and lack of normal social function.

**0o0o0o0o  
**

So I officially moved in with Joe. I started taking cooking classes. I stopped going after higher paid skips, only stuck to the ones that were boring and safe like Doogie. I eventually stopped skip chasing altogether. I accepted Joe's proposal, because like he said, who else but him would want someone like me? I was flawed and pretty soon I'd be useless to everyone. And so, thinking it was all for the best we were married. It was a quick engagement; Joe thought it would be better that way. All I can remember thinking is 'I don't want to fight him over this' because I thought that if I fought him I would lose him, and that just wasn't acceptable to me anymore.

At first everyone was thrilled for me. Sure there were a few doubts raised, Lula raising the majority of them. She asked me if I was happy, and I think I was. I was happy because there was no more guilt, no more fighting. I wasn't in trouble all the time. I couldn't give two hoots about putting my mother at ease, but it was a bonus to the whole situation.

Ranger didn't come to ceremony, even though I had stood up to Joe in order to have him and some of the other Merry Men invited. It was the one argument I was determined to win, and has been the only argument I have won since. It is hard to win when your partner is a lot stronger and meaner than you are.

Once it was all over, I started seeing the signs. Morelli men have a reputation of being drunks and abusers. I stupidly thought Joe wasn't going to end up like that. I wish I had been right. Joe started coming home later, stinking of beer. He started to get stressed again, and became rather nasty and belligerent when he was home. I figured the stress of the job was getting to him, and I was trying my hardest to make things easy at home.

Issue was, and is, that I am a terrible cook. Even with cooking classes I stunk. Joe started harping on about how I couldn't be a proper woman, because I couldn't cook worth a lick. I snapped at him, that he mustn't be a proper man because he hardly ever took the time to take care of my needs during sex anymore. That was the first time he hit me. It was the first and last time that he apologised for it. I didn't leave the house for a few weeks, until the swelling and bruising went down. By that time, I had forgiven him and to this day I wish I hadn't.

Things escalated quickly after that first time. Things fell into a pattern. He would work, go out drinking and the boys down at the office would bring the simmering pile of drunken rage home to me. Eddie told me one night that maybe Joe needed to get laid more. It earned a round of laughs from everyone present, Joe wholeheartedly agreeing, and I just felt ill. I'd mentioned to him, not one week before that Joe was mean and cruel after these after work drink sessions. Eddie had promised to cut back, to help me out by trying to calm him down. I felt so betrayed when he turned around and practically told me it was my fault. Then, instead of betrayed I started to believe he was right.

And so, I started to feel guilty again. Joe would hit me, and I would feel upset and ashamed with myself. Each blow was a reminder of what a failure I was. So I hid my bruises and cuts and got on with life. I'd forgotten all about my promise, instead all I cared about was trying to please Joe. My cooking still stank, and that was what caused the majority of conflict, or beatings.

**0o0o0o0o**

We have been married six months, and I have spent five of those months hiding away, too scared to go out. To show people my shame. It wasn't until today, when a particular kick to my ribs and then to my stomach caused painful cramping and too much blood to come out of nowhere, that I realised what a fool I was being. I had always been smart, and knew when the through struck me suddenly and clearly that I hadn't had a period in two months I knew where the blood was from. Today I cried for the first time since that first hit.

Joe had officially stopped making it about just me. He had now inadvertently caused the death of a child that neither of us knew about. I'm mad, furious, but I don't know what to do. I have spent over a year buckling under, and the fight in me is now all gone. I had given up, and in doing so completely lost who I am, or rather who I was. I have nothing left of my own, not even really my friends. Joe has become my whole world, and the thought of leaving terrifies me just as much as staying does.

I am Stephanie Morelli, née Plum, and I have broken my promise. I just don't know how to fix it anymore.

**AN: Yep, umm that's prolly it folks. I don't hold out hopes for continuation, but then again I could be inspired. Feel free to review**


End file.
